The Birth of Lord Voldemort
by Etherealness
Summary: It was the end of an era. With Grindelward imprisoned, Albus was broken and grieving. At the same time, Tom Riddle, who feared sentimentality more than anything else, found himself oddly attracted to another. Would love save Tom for his destined path, or would it push him over once and for all? How are the fate of three power men intertwined?


_This is a shocking pairing that many people might disapprove. However, this idea had been nagging inside me for almost four years. Therefore, I would post it before I changed my mind again._

_I always imagined that if Tom Riddle is to love anyone, that person must be powerful and intelligent above all else. I also thought that even someone like Riddle must have loved at a point in his life, but his love/desire is likely shattered. I fathomed that he would detested the vulnerability that comes with loving and heartbreaking, and therefore trying to resort to a magical way to make himself emotionally detached/protected. So…here's my interpretation of what happened._

June, 1997, Albus Dumbledore died as lightning struck the tower, taking the greatest secret of Voldemort to his grave. It was a memory of Tom Riddle's moment of weaknesses, a memory that Voldemort no longer remembered. When the white tomb sealed in the swirling magical flame, the memory forever diminished from Earth. No one knew how very close Tom Riddle came, to love.

(He repeatedly told Harry that Voldemort lacked the ability to love. All the while though, he alone had known that Tom Riddle, the prefect and the Head Boy, was so very close to loving.)

It was near the end of his seventh grade, just after NEWTS, the day that whatever little faith Tom Riddle still had in love was shattered and broken, when his love was flung right back into his face. It was the day that Tom Riddle was driven over the edge, the day that Tom Riddle ceased existing, the day that Lord Voldemort was born. Albus never told anyone about it, not Horace, not Armando, not Minerva, not Severus, and certainly not Harry, because he felt guilty, guilty, _guilty, guilty, guilty…._

(Perhaps he could still save him.… Perhaps if he had been gentler…. Perhaps if he wasn't so absorbed in his own pain.… Perhaps if he paid a little more attention… Perhaps…Perhaps… perhaps….)

It was exactly two months and thirteen days after the defeat of Grindelward. It was two months and seven days after he had been discharged from St. Mongo's, after finally awaking from a magic-exhaustion-induced coma. It was exactly two months and seven days of nightmare, of heartbreak, of grief, after locking up the love of his life into that high tower. It was exactly two months and seven days of insomnia, of heartache, of hysterical weeping in his office, of refusing every visitor, of furiously throwing all letters into the fireplace. It was exactly two months and seven days telling everyone he was fine, _fine_, FINE, and using various glamour charms to conceal his thinness. When the Wizarding world tried to repair and recover, Albus Dumbledore was left alone in pieces.

(Students became his lifeline, then, his only grasp of reality. He was so close to slipping away. If not for preparing his students for OWLs and NEWTs, he was so very close to losing it).

His became unstable. On the nights when sleep eluded him, he thought of all the lives that were lost due to his delayed dual. His mind went to those widows, orphans, the wounded and the dead, and the guilt felt like a punch in his guts. He would lit one candle, sat silently in his chair and let the tears fall until morning sun broke his vigils. On the nights when he was able to sleep, he dreamt of Gellert's brilliant hair, his mischievous eyes, and his charismatic grin. Usually they would be back in Godric Hollow, or on a foreign field. They are young again, intelligent and carefree. On these nights, he would wake up in the middle of the dream, and, once the disorientation faded, felt bitter disappointment when he realized that he was alone in his large, four-poster bed. Emptiness descended onto him so physically that he could feel a hole in his chest, a horribly black hole where Gellert had resided. Gellert was not just his other half in terms of intelligence, but also of magic. Their magic cores were so similar that to have one missing felt almost as sickening as to have half of himself missing. Gradually this vacancy melted into a part of him. He carried this empty hole to the Great Hall, to the classroom and back to his office every day.

(Both his mind and his magic craved for Gellert's presence… His dark twin…his only…)

It was exactly two months and thirteen days since the Head Boy and prefect had starting to feel conflicted. At first he dismissed the feeling, because he, of all people, was not sentimental. Emotions aside from glee and anger had no meaning to him. Still, as it became more and more difficult to concentrate, he had to admit that something was amiss. He began to lose sleep, which had never happened before. Dark Art, which was supposedly his passion, somehow lost its appeal; he no longer felt the same intense glee at learning dark magic. Then there was a new hunger, a longing in his chest that he never experienced before, one that stole his concentration and leaved a nagging feeling in his mind. Like a dormant beast waking up, this longing stretched, yawned, made its presence known, and began trotting around in search of food.

He was anxious and irritated. He loathed this new sensation. He hated the fact that he had no idea where it came from, and the fact that he had no idea how to appease the beast inside him. Just not knowing made him panicked. He blamed his irritation on all the celebration going on, he blamed it on the general festive mood of the castle, and he blamed it on all the parties and feasts. However, deep down inside, he knew it was something within him that has changed. Ever since Grindelward was defeated, it seemed that a screw in himself just went loose.

(He knew he was losing control of his emotion, and he was freaking out. He is strong. He is supposed to be in control. He did not want to lose his control. That's for the weak. He is strong.)

At the same time, he found himself staring at the Transfiguration professor more and more frequently. He noticed the faltering in his steps, the vacancy in his gaze, the distractedness in his voice, and Tom was a little concerned. He hated Dumbledore to the bones. That was for sure, since Dumbledore was always determined to intervene whatever scheme Tom had. If he was to be honest with himself (which he wasn't going to be), he also feared Dumbledore. On the other hand, in this magic castle full of weaklings and half-squibs, Dumbledore alone held his respect, simply by being a rival in power and intelligence. Even though Tom hated Dumbledore for his muggle-loving and trustfulness, he always held a disdainful respect for the professor's power.

He had always been intrigued by the Transfiguration professor's immense power and knowledge. Even in his emotionally fragile state, the professor's magic had not waned. Instead, the usually suppressed magic grew all the more pronounced due to the professor's volatile mood; it was an aura that oscillated the very air around him.

Then it came to that sunny Wednesday afternoon, the moment when all his perceptions altered. Tom was on his way toward the Charms classroom. He entered a corridor, and briefly noticed Dumbledore leaning against a window, staring out to the courtyard. As Tom was in a slight hurry, he paid little attention to the melancholy professor, and increased his pace. He was about to turned around the corner when a strong magical aura hit him, or more accurately, reached for him. At first he thought he was attacked, but it did not hurt. Instead that power desperately enveloped him, bathing him in extraordinary warmth that was not unlike the soothing effect of a cup of hot cocoa in a wintry night. The warmth seeped through his body, until his entire body was filled with that tingling feeling. A potent sensation he never knew filled his chest, like two different wavelengths suddenly tuned together, an ultimate harmony when two magic cores linked. For the first time in his entire life, he felt utterly at peace.

(It was the exact feeling that Albus had felt in Gellert's presence.)

He turned toward the professor in shock. Albus Dumbledore also stared back, a panic-stricken look briefly crossing his face, before his expression turned blank again. The comforting sensation rapidly leaved his body, as if the warm aura was physically wrenched from him. Dumbledore spoke softly "Mr. Riddle, I am sorry if my magical aura disturbed you. I should have better control over myself." With that, Dumbledore swiftly turned around, leaving a dumbstruck Tom in the hollow corridor.

(It was Albus' mistake. Tom Riddle's magic core was so similar to that of Gellert's, so dark and strong and vibrant, that Albus subliminally reached for him. For a brief moment he deluded himself with the familiar magic, only to realize his error before their magic bond.)

For days onward, Tom could not forget the magic aura that was so similar, so compatible to his. He had no idea why the professor's magic core abruptly went to his. All he knew was that the aura left a massive hole in his chest. Or perhaps the bottomless vacancy had always been there, and the magic aura just revealed what was already present. And somehow, he just knew that he could not experience the same tranquility in any other places again.

(They say "power attracts power". In this case, the saying is all too true.)

What could he do? Sitting in the library's darkest corner, Tom mulled over his options. Admitting his need to possess this magic would expose his most vulnerable side, something that he kept even from himself. That was out of question. What could he said, anyways? "Professor Dumbledore, I found myself inseparable from your magic aura." It sounded ridiculous even in his head. On the other hand, it is unbelievable that after all the books he had read, none of them mentioned the impact of individual magical cores on others. Perhaps it was so rare a branch of magic that he never touched before? He relaxed momentarily, and watched a bunch of Ravenclaw girls giggling over something. A blonde whispered something into another's ear, most likely about a rumored affair, and the two dissolved into a fit of laughter.

A thought suddenly dawned to Tom. Could he, possibly, unfathomably, be in love?


End file.
